From Adventures To Memories (Indefinite Hiatus)
by SdaTheArtist
Summary: Remnant is not without its fairy tales and legends. However, as Artyom and his companions will discover, the people of Remnant and Earth―perhaps even the worlds themselves―may not be so different from one another. (Side stories and lore exploration for the FRTH series.)
1. Short Story: A Colorful Exchange

**Author's Note:**

 **Hey there, and happy 4th of July to those living in the states! Apologies for not posting the fourth chapter for _From Children To Warriors_ , but I'm currently editing the previous three chapters—plus, I'm reviewing and tweaking my outline for the first half of the first volume's second act, so I won't be able to post Chapter 4 for a little while.**

 **That being said, I posted this fic to explain the untold stories that will happen through the course of _From Children To Warriors_ , explore some of the lore _in context_ to _FCTW_ (I'm probably going to post a separate fic dedicated to just the _lore_ of Remnant in the _FCTW_ universe), and to give something to you readers to occupy yourselves with while I work on the upcoming chapters.**

 **I think I'll get to posting Chapter 4 this Friday or Saturday, but I won't make promises.**

 **Anyway, thank you dear readers for being patient and again I do apologize for the inconvenience. I do hope you'll enjoy the snippets and short stories between chapter updates, though!**

 **-Sda209.**

* * *

 **A COLORFUL EXCHANGE**

* * *

My fucking God. I can't believe I _made_ it.

Green eyes stared out over the city skyline as Henriette peered over from the railing. Below the great airliner of an airship—having never flown on one, it was a surreal experience in of itself for her—she could see the three-five storied buildings of Vale hundreds of feet from her spot. She had never seen this many buildings so tightly packed together in a small region like Vale—the Country Lands, at least around Vale's outskirts and beyond, were sparsely populated, with only a few real big towns and hundreds of smaller villages scattered about. While Forever Fall was one of the world's most beautiful forests, for Henriette, _nothing_ could ever beat the view she had of Vale from this airliner.

Too bad that I'll have to get off this thing as soon as it lands, though. Henriette frowned. In all honesty, she would've liked to live on an airship for the rest of her days and have it lazily float about over the entire world. To think, living here, every morning you would be treated to a beautiful sunrise, and every dusk you would be also treated to a beautiful sunset as well. Chuckling to herself, she pulled out her carton and popped a stick into her teeth before lighting its end with her lighter. Shit, I would tell someone they'd be fuckin' lying if they hated the view of Vale from up here… Then again, being a Country-Lander myself, I never had gotten this close to the kingdom until this morning.

It was then that she heard the doors behind her being slammed open followed by profuse vomiting. The hell…? Henriette turned around to see a fairly wimpy-looking blonde splurging his breakfast into the nearby trash can. She found herself shifting. Shit, I spoke too soon.

After he wiped his lips, Henriette watched him moaning as he harshly leaned on the railing. The young man touched his forehead, but then he locked eyes with Henriette. She shot back a neutral gaze before facing the sky and taking a drag. The wind carried the smoke away and she heard the man coughing harshly.

"Aren't you a bit too young to smoke?"

Henriette glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. "'Too young?' The hell's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, ugh," he held his stomach. "I mean… how _old_ are you?"

"17."

The young man's eyes became wide. "Where did you pick up a habit like that?"

"Beats me." Henriette shrugged as she took another drag, though she took care to spit the smoke out to a direction parallel to the young man's spot. "Comes with the stalker business, I guess."

"Really…?"

"Got a problem or somethin'?"

"Uh, no, no no," he quickly shook his head, the fear evident in his voice. It made Henriette chuckle to herself, however. I guess stalkers are just as infamous in the kingdoms.

"T-That's not what I mean- I mean, I'm kinda surprised someone like you is here at all, y-y'know? N-Not that I have a problem with Country Landers, n-neither _Traditionalists_ , so-"

Suddenly, Henriette snapped to him with a raised hand. "Hey now, slow down kid. It's gonna take a lot more than calling me _Traditionalist_ to piss me off. I don't care either way, honestly."

And she was telling the guy her honest truth. Exactly 80 years ago—the anniversary of the Great War was actually in just a couple months from now, if Henriette remembered correctly—Remnant's most terrible war was divided by the Colourists and Traditionalists: the former being those who opposed total restriction of freedom of expression and individualism, and the latter being those who upheld such restrictions.

Well, actually, if I remember correctly, Traditionalism was pretty much the culture of Remnant before the Great War, and it wasn't known as its current state at the time, but I know many who supported limitation of individualism were Traditionalists themselves.

For Henriette, she was born a "Traditionalist" herself, but to _true_ Traditionalists (the ones who opposed individualism, anyway) she would be considered a _Colourist_. Despite her full name not being related to a color in any way whatsoever, Henriette possessed a motif of her own that was based on a classic series—mainly a trio of orphans experiencing a series of unfortunate events—and usually, such Traditionalists would have opposed her in those days (even today, actually) in spite of her apparent upbringing. She never cared for such distinctions herself, but she was not blind to them at all.

The young man stared at her in surprise. "Did you just called me 'kid?'"

"Force of habit," Henriette shifted. "Sorry 'bout that. But my point still stands—a _real_ Traditionalist would have thrown me into a correction mill if they knew I had a motif."

"Oh, a… motif?" He seemed to have relaxed in Henriette's eyes, though she wasn't quite sure of his actual feelings underneath his curiosity. "What's yours? Mine's apparently based on an ancestor of mine from medieval times… actually, she's the one who started the motif herself. Famous crossdressing knight, though she got burned at the stake."

Henriette winced. Damn, what a way to go out. "I don't know much, but my last name is shared with one of the main characters in some kind of classic story. Something about three orphaned kids, a secret society, crazy uncle wanting to steal family fortune…"

She pursed her lips. "Well, there is this saying that pops up throughout the story, I think: 'a series of unfortunate events.' Don't ask me about its context, though; I'm not so sure about it."

"Huh," the blonde tilted his head before pursing his lips. "I think I heard of that story before, though I don't remember what it was called either…"

While he tried to recall the name of the story, Henriette thought to take a good, long look at him. Scruffy blonde hair, baby-blue eyes, muscular physique (though rather wimpy and under-utilized), sheathed steel sword and breastplate… Hold on, why does this description sound familiar?

"Hey, um, are you an Arc by any chance?"

Arc gasped. "How'd you know?!"

Jackpot. Should've realized this sooner, though.

"Well," Henriette first took another drag, being careful not to let the resulting smoke go in Arc's direction. "Your blonde hair and baby-blue eyes for starters—I know that's the trait of the Arcs. But are the Arcs _not_ famous for being a bloodline of knights, and, more recently, huntsmen these days?"

"Well yeah!" Arc chuckled as he scratched his neck. "I mean, the Arcs aren't as famous anymore, but we're a pretty old bloodline… if the amount of heirlooms, statues and stories of us out there are anything to indicate. My family and I are just farmers on Patch Island, but the funny is that every great Arc had started out as a farmer. I want to be just like them, y'know? I even got this!"

He lifted up his sheath and pulled out his sword. Pressing on the sheath, it immediately transformed into a heater shield.

"T-Ta da!" Arc smiled rather awkwardly. "It's, uh, my great-great grandfather's from the Great War… Though it's been pretty well-maintained for all these years."

"Not bad, Arc, not bad at all." Henriette nodded towards him. I'll have to admit, he's either brave or crazy to fight Grimm with a sword and shield. Then again, dust ain't cheap these days, and while black powder's still pretty easy to produce, only towns have the industrial capacity to produce modern firearms if the kingdoms aren't already selling guns to them. And griffons can be very surprisingly good at area-of-denial.

Arc stared at her, much to Henriette's surprise. "You… you really think so?"

"Well, you're either one of the most bravest people I've met, or one of the most insane. The least you can do is buy a handmade rifle off of a gunsmith from a village—a few high-powered, powder-based bullets can drop a Beowolf if you know how to aim right."

"Oh." Arc sighed as he sheathed his sword and slung back on his waist.

However, Henriette thought it strange for the young man to be suddenly down, but she thought little of it.

"Well… since I've shown you my weapon, why don't you show me yours?"

Henriette pursed her lips. Sure she could show off her guns, but on the other hand… well, what reason she would have _not_ to show Arc? She shook her head. This ain't going to spiral into a Vacuoan standoff; you're in the _Kingdom of Vale_ for God's sake! Might as well show the guy what I got.

Muttering an alright, Henriette unslung her prized semi-automatic shotgun from her backpack and raised it towards Arc. It was long, sleek and black, it's frame more similar to a large sniper rifle than an actual shotgun. Apart from its adjustable iron sights, the butt acted like a handle for its secondary form.

"Whoa…" Arc admired the design of the shotgun. "It's pretty big, though."

"It actually makes fighting in melee combat easier. Watch."

Switching her grip to the butt of the shotgun, Henriette squeezed a button on its top with a thumb and the entire frame started to shift entirely. In moments, a large, thick machete with a curved blade popped out in its place. However, the barrel of the shotgun had aligned itself with the hilt, formerly the butt, and it ran over most of the length of the machete's dull side; the barrel stopped short a few inches away from the tip of the blade.

Arc swallowed. "Wow, t-that's, um, that's…"

"'Terrifying?'" Henriette glanced at him blankly. "Never seen a machete before?"

"Not… really."

"Well, contrary to popular belief, this thing's used for cutting through brushes and foliage, so no it's not used as a murder weapon… not until you run into a Grimm, anyway."

Shooting a quick okay at her, Arc sighed and leaned on the railing. "I can't believe I managed to get into Beacon…"

"Pardon?" Henriette raised an eyebrow. Though she had heard of the huntsman academies before, she had never attended any of Vale's elementary combat schools due to her occupation as a stalker. Also, she was not exactly well-versed in most knowledge a kingdom person would typically know.

Arc snapped to her, his eyes wide. "Err… I mean," he scratched his neck. "It's hard for me to believe that I got into Beacon Academy. It's, err, pretty tough!"

"It is?" Henriette continued to raise her eyebrow. "I signed a form and was immediately accepted at once. Do new students _not_ just sign a form to enter?"

" _What_!? All you had to do was sign a form?"

Oh shit, so students aren't supposed to _just_ sign a form?

Shrugging, Henriette leaned back on the railing, though she was careful not to put too much pressure. Although she was sure the metal's sturdy enough to handle her weight, she rather not repeat the _last time_ she that. It took two days just for Henriette to find a way out of that abandoned valley town. And the Grimm practically _overran_ that place.

"Well, to be honest, some huntsman guy claiming to be working for Beacon's headmaster offered me some enrollment papers after I did a favor for him. After that, I was in. But you tell me Arc, how does a student _actually_ enroll into Beacon?"

Arc, at first, groaned, muttering about being a stupid idiot for not just signing up, but then he broke from his self-loathing tangent (poor bastard) and looked to the sky.

"You… need to take an entrance exam. Right after you sign up for Beacon, that is."

"What kind of 'exam' are we talking about?" Henriette raised a curious eyebrow.

"The written kind, y'know, like a test. It's really hard, but I heard the real exam starts with an 'Initiation,' but I don't know what that is."

Henriette nodded, shooting an I see at him.

A silence settled between the two of them, accompanied by the lazy winds and the low, all-encompassing hum of the airliner's engines.

"I'm Jaune."

"Pardon?" Henriette glanced at him as she took another drag.

Arc scratched his head. "Jaune Arc, that's err, that's my name. Um, what's yours, i-if you don't mind me asking?"

"Henriette Baudelaire."

"'Baudelaire?'" To Henriette's discomfort, Jaune stared at her. Goddammit, don't tell me he _knows_ …

"You're, like, related to that admiral lady of Mantle's Navy from the Great War, aren't you?"

Henriette shifted. "...I suppose so." In an attempt to change the subject, she glanced at him at the corner of her eyes, yet she kept her head in the same position. "Your great-great grandfather or parents fought in the war too, right? Colourists, if I remember correctly?"

"Pretty much. It may not seem like it, but," and Henriette noticed an air of confidence returning to the guy. "My parents homeschooled me. I know a lot about military history and from them, but…"

"But…?"

Jaune shook his head to Henriette's curiosity. "Some other stuff, I guess. Anyway," she took note of how quickly she changed the subject. "You're one of the first people who I talked to for this long. Y'know, maybe we could be friends? I-I mean, not like 'friends-to-lovers' friends 'cause that's just awkward and, uh, I kinda don't see you that way, but then again I kinda want a girlfriend and Dad always told me that if I just show confidence, then I'll at least have a good chance of getting one and-"

"Err, kid, too _much_ information! Far more than I needed to hear." Henriette quickly shook her head in embarrassment. Fucking hell, this is starting to get weird. Regardless, she took another drag before facing him.

"I don't know 'bout being friends. If you don't know already, I'm a stalker, and we stalkers tend to look out for our own only. But that's not it; I just like working alone in general. Don't think I'm an asshole just because of that—when it comes to the stalker business—especially when you live out there in the Country Lands—you get more than your fair share of fighting and dying. There's a reason why I work far from home."

"Oh…" Jaune hung his head, much to Henriette's worry. Fuck, I done it now.

Contrary to Henriette's recent response, she valued having close friends. Back then, she had more partners and allies she could rely on, but after the latest attack on her home village—of which, had to be evacuated—she was one of the only stalkers left. Though her new home had its formed its own reputable, and reliable, stalker group since then, it was when she decided it would be best to work alone. But whether she chose to do so out of a need to protect her (leftover) friends from harm or to avoid the pain of losing another one, Henriette did not know.

Henriette broke her blank gaze in exchange for one of _concern_ , when the airliner's speakers buzzed to life:

" _All passengers, we are preparing to arrive to our destination shortly. Please gather all your belongings…"_

Huh, we're already here? Faster than I expected. Taking one last drag, Henriette threw her stick into the trash can's ashtray and headed for the door, but not before shooting one last glance at Jaune. She still kept her _concerned_ gaze.

"Hey, just because you didn't made a friend doesn't mean you can't try again. I'm not the only person here, so maybe you could try somewhere else? I know I'm the last person to talk to you about this, but I just wanna let you know that I _do value_ friends, 'specially close ones. Just take heed of why I work alone. See you on the other side, Jaune."

Before Jaune could respond, Henriette had already entered the cabin. She made her way to the crowd heading downstairs down the hallway when a hologram of one of the academy's teachers (presumably, anyway) appeared. She began congratulating the students on attending one of the world's most prestigious institutions, but Henriette tuned her out. Jeez, that was… _awkward_. Still, that Jaune guy wasn't too bad. A little wimpy and rough around the edges, but he's alright.

A few minutes later, standing at the docking bay along with the rest of the students, Henriette felt her weight dropping down as the airliner gracefully docked next to the airship pad. The doors opened and released the crowd, Henriette included. This was it. The moment of truth. This was the point where Henriette begins her life at Beacon—and, subsequently, her education in the world of living in the kingdoms. Jaune was the first person she ever engaged in a conversation in the kingdom, and while it wasn't exactly one she would tell her grandkids it was, perhaps, a good start. It might take some getting used to _not_ living in the Country Lands, though, much less acting on her old stalker habits. Hell, on the inside Henriette was sweating bullets. Anything could happen from here on out.

Before she stepped out of the airliner, she heard one familiar somebody vomiting in the nearby trash can. Henriette sighed. Poor bastard gets motion sick easily, don't he? Turning to Jaune, she produced a spare handkerchief from her pocket and left it in Jaune's hands before quickly leaving the scene. She may work alone, but she always looked out for people she knew and was with good terms on.

One fact was certain for Henriette, though—the journey of becoming a huntress is going to be full of surprises, twists and turns. She made her way through the avenue, gazing in awe at the sheer size of Beacon's campus area and the towering monolith of a tower, its top emitting green lights, dwarfing every building for miles around.


	2. Vignette: Typical Yang-Teasing

Hands aching. Fingers cramping. Just finishing... There!

Finally.

Releasing a sigh of relief, Artyom leaned back on the wooden chair and stared at the painstakingly-scribbled report sitting smugly on the desk. Professor Oobleck―who, for some arbitrary reason, preferred to be called "Doctor Oobleck"―required a report concerning the key events in the Great War today. Though it was due by next week, he was glad to say that he got that out of the way in his schedule. More time in the library for him.

But first, a lie-down on his bed for a couple minutes would be nice.

Artyom pushed himself from his seat and lied on his bed, which was the bottom of the makeshift bunk. When compared to the others' bunks, he regarded his and Henriette's as the safest one (which was thanks to Ozpin's foresight, though he apparently forgot about replacing the rest of the team's beds with actual bunks) to sleep on, as he thought everyone else's bunks were precarious, especially in Ruby and Weiss's case.

Soft, fluffy sheets gently pushed against his back as he lied his head on his equally-fluffy pillows. Artyom, closing his eyes, brought his hands under his head with a relaxed sigh. I don't think I would ever get tired of sleeping on an actual bed like this.

"Hey, Artyom~!"

Artyom frowned. Goddammit, it was her again, wasn't it?

Opening one eye, his blue eyes locked gazes with teasing purple. Yang lied on his bed on her stomach, face-forward towards him with her hands supporting her chin and her bare feet swinging behind her like levers.

"What the hell do you want, Yang?"

"Oh nothing~!" She smirked, a hint of deviousness hidden in her lips. "Just wonderin' if you're available today."

"For what? Another fucking prank?"

"Whoa there Artyom, let's not get so hasty now!" She grinned widely. "Especially since we're both _alone_ in this room~."

Blood immediately spread to his cheeks as Artyom shot up and stared at her. "A-Are you actually suggesting-"

"Of course," Yang rolled onto her back, hugging her stomach and emphasizing the tank top hugging her plump cleavage. "If you don't mind being alone for _three_ hours, I can show you my _babies_ ~."

Artyom stared at her, eyes widened and jaw slacked as all of his blood practically permeated his cheeks. God, were you trying to seduce me?

Without warning, Yang removed her tank top and threw it at Artyom's face. He yelped in horror and instinctively tore the offending piece off, expecting to see a full view of Yang's breasts...

...Only to see her wearing _another_ tank top.

Yang burst into laughter and rolled around on his bed as Artyom glared at her. "You are an asshole, Yang."

"Well," She wiped a tear off her eye. "I hope I'm a _good_ asshole, eh?"

Artyom was not even sure if she was trying to pull a euphemism. "Nonetheless, I despise you all the time."

"Hey, you're the only guy here," Yang pouted. "And it's no fun when I can't test my pickup lines on some hopeless sap- I mean, 'willing volunteer~.'"

Sighing, Artyom threw a pillow over his face. I might as well take a nap, if only to get rid of her for a while.

When several minutes had passed, he heard Yang sighing. "Seriously, I really was wondering if you're available today for some Remnant. Oh well, I guess."


End file.
